Thread: I've wrapped my mind around these things you see.

Quest
And so it was, this potent man
Did leave his home, this fairest land
To aid the damsel in distress
For which he had searched long and hard.

He thought he found a damsel such
But 'round he came, and never much
Danger was there 'round.
He slew distress, and only ordinary damsels there were found.

The damsels thanked him,
To stay, they begged him,
With fervent cries, did they bedeck him,
But on and on he searched.

He thought he found a damsel fair,
Of dire need and beauteous flair,
Yet when he came around to help,
And slew yon dragons without a yelp,
And fought his way through Demon whelp,
Did find that when he reached the maiden,
The damsel was no longer in distress.

His realization brought him to his knees
He prayed to the Lord with fervent pleas,
He always did defeat himself,
Unmaking the object of his quest,
For what is a damsel without distress?

His life lost meaning, his purpose, gone,
He longed to return whence he had come,
But time flows but forward, so on he trudged,
And his own actions, now he judged.

He had done the maids a favor,
Brought their dull lives bits of flavor,
And saved them from a Dragon's savor.
But now all he had were bits of adventure,
And bygone pieces of memories.

A broken man now, he does roam,
His eyes are steeled, his heart is stone,
For by his help, himself he ruined,
His tale unsung by bard's soft croon.

His great lament is that he never grabbed his bit of fame.
He does not see, he does not hear, the lives that he has saved.
His eyes are shut, his ears are closed, life has lost its flame.
He caused great joy, but in his mind, he feels nothing but pain.

His story though, the saddest is, seen every day the same.
The people hide their truest gains, to seek impossible aims.
And never are content with that great paradise they've fostered.
And blind themselves, to lie in self-created dark, exhausted.

Foresight
Alone at last,
In a world so vast,
That rarely is there silence,
That just to get a piece of quiet,
Men will turn to violence.
But victory is bittersweet,
And winning causes more defeat,
For who could forsee loneliness?

Madness
What madness is this
That haunts my mind,
And taunts my brain at night?
What insanity, now,
That whispers deceptions,
And tries to cause me fright.
What imagination have I,
That dream a mania from nothing,
And cause me to disregard logic,
and jump and fear and scare?
What frenzy, lo,
That hunts me down,
To form me what I am?
And shows me what I could be doing,
But never mentions what I can.
I live to seek its purpose,
And strive to know its name,
Though in truth, my life and effort,
Are but aspects of its game.
Its game that lasts forever,
Past when my bones are rot,
A mystery that shall never,
Ever be forgot.

The meter and rhyming patter are erratic at best, if present at all. But hell, my prose is better. I'll see if I can't scare some up. (Or simply write something new. :3)